


Aftermath

by orphan_account



Series: Communication is Key [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Dom/sub, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Fluff and Smut, Group Sex, Multi, Polyamory, Porn With Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2014-03-04
Packaged: 2018-01-14 13:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1267687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>People are complicated beasts, the Avengers even more so. Luckily they have each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

Bruce stands in the shower with the dial turned up as hot as it goes and lets the water run over him. He barely even feels it. His breathing is slow and even, his heartbeat tame and it’s all he can hear. They take up everything in his whole world, those sounds. There are no feelings, no sensations but those, that steady _thump-thump-thump_ , that rush of air _in-and-out_ , _in-and-out_. Proof of life. Proof of control.

Bruce’s eyes close and time slips away, becomes inconsequential, immaterial. He doesn’t let himself go- never _ever_ lets himself go- but he drifts. Drifts in the odd place between relaxation and thrumming tension, between apathy and passion, rage and calm, relief and panic. 

Bruce lets the water run and world ceases to exist around him.

\--

Clint punches the wall really _really_ fucking hard and feels a burst of satisfaction when the plaster gives way and leaves a nice Clint-shaped hole in the wall. His fist draws back and there’s blood smeared against the shattered white surface, sluicing out of his split knuckles, and all he can feel is heavy, dark, curling satisfaction deep in his gut. The type of primitive feeling wrenched out of him from somewhere ancient and primal. 

A hunk of plaster breaks away from the wall and crashes to the floor.

He can’t make himself feel bad about the wall, though he might have been able to a year ago. He’s known Stark too long by now to think the man would care about something as trivial as Clint putting a hole in his wall. The man has more money than god and has absolutely zero problem flaunting that fact. Hell, he could probably have a whole team of contractors here in under an hour to build Clint a whole new wall if he wanted to. Stark is exactly that kind of filthy, obscene rich. Clint would only have to ask for it. He’d only have to say the word and whatever he wanted would be his.

The thought makes his jaw clench and he abruptly wants to punch the wall again. He rests his head against it instead. Fuck. 

How the hell did this happen?

\--

Thor stands upon the roof and turns his face up to the sky. A harsh gale spins his hair about his face and makes his loose clothes billow like sails caught against the mast of his limbs. There are rain clouds closing in fast, thunder crashing, lightning streaking the sky with white and he knows it is his doing. Even without his mighty hammer Thor is still the God of Thunder and the sky will always answer his call. He calls the rain to him now and there is a mighty clap of thunder before the flood. 

It is a punishing downpour and every drop on his skin feels like penance. Thor closes his eyes and spreads his arms wide, surrendering himself to the storm. He is soaked through in moments and after a time the rain begins to feel like a physical assault, a living, breathing force surrounding him from every conceivable angle, choking him with sensation, with feelings he doesn’t understand. There is warmth on his cheeks, so obvious against the wintery chill of his skin and Thor thinks he might be crying.

His clothes cling to him and the God of Thunder is suddenly angry at this shield from the elements, this flimsy protection he doesn’t want nor deserve. He whips his shirt over his head and drops his pants so he’s naked in the rain, at the complete mercy of the storm that rages about him. Thor roars aloud and lets himself go, let’s all his anger and anguish out to be swept up by the wind, lets his tears to be washed away by the harsh lashings of rain against his face. He accepts his punishment, accepts that this is the price to be paid for what he has done.

Thor stands alone in the rain, naked and humbled, surrounded by the never-ending storm and regrets as strongly as he ever has in his thousand years of life. 

\--

Steve sinks slowly to the ground at the top of the stairs and rests his head against the door. He can hear the storm railing outside, the ominous crashes of thunder, the heavy beat of the rain and he hopes that Thor is alright. Worry builds in his chest as the sounds of the storm continue to intensify, but Steve can’t make himself so much as twitch in the God’s direction. All of a sudden the Captain feels as if his feet are encased in concrete, like he couldn’t move even if the entirety of the German armed forces were at his back threatening to shoot.

Steve stares at the door. There is no reason to be wary, and yet… and yet…

Steve sighs. It’s been a long time since he thought himself a coward and it is a worse feeling than he remembers. He rubs a hand over his face and is suddenly very, very tired. He longs for a good night’s rest, to forget even if it’s just for a little while, but he can’t make himself leave. He can’t abandon his team. Guilt and duty war against fear and apprehension inside of him and freeze him in place until he feels just as stuck as he did encased in ice. 

A mighty roars echoes through the door and down the stairs, making Steve’s breath catch. His hand slaps against the door and his nails dig into the wood. He grits his teeth, wanting to run far far away and slam the door open in equal measure. 

In the end he does neither. Steve remains stuck, frozen in his indecision and doesn’t move again for a long time.

\--

Tony turns the Metallica up loud and sings along in random bursts when inspired by a particularly sick guitar chord progression. Ducking and weaving around his workshop in fits and starts of synchronicity with the music, Tony chucks things at dum-e to put away and amuses himself watching the poor robot scramble and trill trying to collect them from the varying unfortunate places they land. It’s cruel, sure-- _but it’s a fucking robot so why the hell should I care?_ he thinks bitterly, _It’s not like it has feelings._

He’s tinkering with the latest addition to the Iron man suit (repulses that will give him even greater speed and power than he already has as well as twenty percent more lift in flight) when his phone chimes. It can only be Pepper so he ignores it and keeps working. It’s not until a shadow falls over him some indeterminable amount of time later that Tony is forced to acknowledge his CEO. He plasters a smile on his face that feels _far_ more fake than usual and probably looks it, and lights up his blow-torch pointedly.

Pepper to her credit doesn’t even flinch at the live flame inches away from her face and narrows her eyes instead. “Jarvis” she says and Tony flinches immediately at the whip-crack tone of her voice, “can you please repeat the report you gave me so that Mr Stark may hear?”

The music shuts off abruptly. So does the blowtorch.

“Certainly Miss Potts,” the AI begins, sounding almost nervous, and Tony stares straight ahead past Pepper like if he’s resolute enough he can stop his ears from processing the information she’s forcing on him. He doesn’t need this. Not now. Not from her. 

Pepper’s eyes remain fixed, her posture resolute and he can feel her watching him even as Jarvis begins to speak. 

“You asked for a report on the whereabouts of the other Avengers”- Tony flinches - “ and I informed you that Master Thor is on the roof in the middle of a severe weather anomaly and has been for some time,”- he pales slightly, shock-“ Mr Rogers is in the northernmost stairwell and hasn’t moved in approximately 1.34 hours,”- his jaw tenses, anger-“ the location of Miss Romanoff is unknown,”- a slight widening of the eyes, worry- “Mr Barton is alone in his rooms” – a downturned mouth, guilt- “and Dr. Banner is in the shower and has been inactive for a period of approximately 1.45 hours.” – a dramatic reshaping of the face, fear- “ Is that all Miss Potts?”

Pepper watches Tony carefully, catalogues his reactions and says, “Yes thank you Jarvis.”

“Of course Miss Potts.”

The AI’s voice fades away and Pepper stares at Tony until he looks at her. Then she says clearly, carefully, “Fix it.”

Tony keeps his mouth shut.

Pepper breathes in through her nose and looks at him, really looks at him until Tony’s almost desperate to look away. “I mean it Tony,” she insists and her hands curl into fists by her sides, “if you lose them over this you will never forgive yourself and I won’t be able to look at you for having been so hideously stupid.”

Tony nods once, firmly, but otherwise doesn’t respond.

Pepper sighs and then there’s a hand at his shoulder, surprisingly strong and achingly familiar. “Please Tony. Don’t… don’t screw it up,” she says and the _like with us_ goes unsaid, but echoes loudly in his head all the same.

Tony gives her a small smile, more genuine this time and says, “Alright Pep.”

She nods to herself, visibly relieved and says, “Alright. Good. That’s good.”

After she leaves Tony calls on Jarvis to make sure Bruce hasn’t drowned himself and Thor hasn’t frozen to death before double checking the location of Clint. The archer is still in his room so Tony sets his jaw, puts on his big boy pants and heads off.

\--

Natasha listens at the door, hidden carefully in the shadows, as Jarvis rattles off the locations of the other Avengers. Steve and Thor’s names catch her attention, but they’ll take care of each other she knows from experience, and no doubt Tony will go to Hawkeye when he pulls his head out of his ass long enough to get moving. They have some things to work out, the two of them. 

And that leaves her with the big guy.

Natasha can see him in all his incarnations: quiet and meek in the face of new people, harried and skittish surrounded by government types, alive and quick witted in the lab with the flame of passion burning bright in his eyes, then, finally, angry and menacing and green-- fury incarnate. 

Bruce Banner: a terrifying, alluring, complicated mess of a man tied together with a bright hulk-green ribbon.

Natasha can feel it down to her bones, the need to go to him, to know that he is alright. The guilt of knowing deep down that he isn’t, that it’s her fault. It’s cowardly, but she… she doesn’t want to face that. Bruce’s particular brand of ruin always hits her harder than anyone else’s. And today of all days it will be devastating.

If time has shown her anything it’s that she shouldn’t be left to handle the big guy. That she isn’t capable-- ( _worthy_ , her mind whispers) --of the task. It would be so much easier to deal with Stark. She has things she needs to say to Stark too-- but then they all do.

She could do it. She could intercept Tony as he leaves, let Clint go to Bruce. She knows the archer would gentle him as best he could, make sure he’s safe and comfortable. 

(Better than her. The Black Widow can only hurt and strike and kill. She cannot mend or fix or heal.)

Or she could go to Clint herself, reach him before Tony does and make him go to Bruce. Yes, that would work. If there’s anyone that can draw Bruce out of the darkness and make him into a somewhat functional person again it’s Tony.

(As fucked up as he is, Tony can feel. He feels too much. What can the Black Widow feel?)

Tony would be the best choice for r the job. 

But… but…

Natasha sighs. As much as her brain deems it the solution logical, something nags at her, a gut deep knowing that her business isn’t with Tony and it definitely isn’t with Clint. It’s with Bruce.

They have unfinished business, the two of them, and it needs to be dealt with before it blows up in their faces. 

(The Black Widow doesn’t run away from her problems. She’s stronger than that.)

Decision made, Natasha rises to her feet, all feline grace, and stalks down the hallways, quick and silent as a shadow in the night.

\--

There’s a loud crash outside and concern has Steve on his feet and getting soaked in the rain before he’s even thought to panic. He’s soaked to the bone within moments, the door thrown wide open behind him and he freezes when he catches sight of Thor. 

The God of Thunder is slumped against the ground, reclined back, exhausted looking and completely, utterly naked. Rain beats down upon him and makes him look like some kind of perfect, golden sacrifice to the gods instead of a god himself. Steve’s caught up in the sight- at once both hopelessly aroused and intensely worried.

“…Thor?” 

The god lifts his head and blink his eyes open slowly, too languid to be startled. “Steven,” he replies, a rumble of sound not unlike the thunder rolling over the hills in the distance. Steve flushes and it’s obvious against his cool, rain-slicked skin.

“What’re you doing out here?” he asks, loud in the roar of the storm.

“Do you not know?” Thor queries and it’s almost a rhetorical question. Of course Steve knows. Of course. Steve swallows and moves forward a few paces, indecision halting his steps, colouring his face.

Thor looks at him sorrowfully. “Please do not force yourself to be close to me for my own sake Captain. I would not have anything further forced on you this day.”

Steve winces, less at the reminder of things lost and more at the solemn sadness that fills his teammates face. He steels himself and stands straight, ignoring the storm around them in favour of its anguished source. He covers the distance between them and kneels down beside Thor, close enough to show he isn’t afraid of him. He knows that Thor gets it when his eyes flare wide and he sits up slightly to rest against his palms.

“It’s not. It’s not forced. I…” he licks his lips and watches Thor’s eyes follow the movement, “I like being close to you. I’m not scared.”

Thor watches him carefully, eyes searching, and suddenly looks old. Older than anything Steve has ever come into contact with. Older than the oldest tree in the world, the oldest mountain range or stream. Older than even the Earth itself. It’s moments like these that Steve remembers that not only is Thor a god from another world, but he’s over a thousand years old too. For all he knows, the God of Thunder truly is older than the Earth. The thought makes Steve feel as small as he did in his pre-serum days and he curls into himself a bit more in the rain. All the while Thor watches closely. 

Thor says, “I have seen many incarnations of fear in my time Steven and I do not wish to ever see any of them on your face again, but especially not when I am the cause of such affliction. It is my worst fear that such a feeling from you may be deserved."

A hand is laid carefully against his cheek and it utterly steals his breath away.

“Do I have cause to believe that such a thing has occurred?”

Steve stares at Thor, into his too blue, alien eyes and says, chokingly, “No. Oh god of course not Thor. _No_.”

Thor’s face breaks out into relief and he drops his head. It’s only when his shoulders start to shake that Steve realises he is crying. Startled, Steve lays his hand on the other man’s shoulders and is summarily pulled into the other man’s lap and into a tight embrace. Straddled over Thor’s thick thighs, Steve hugs back tightly, resting his cheek against Thor’s wet, matted hair. Tears come to his eyes as well, that Thor could ever think that his actions merited such complete contempt from him. That Steve would be so stricken, so offended by what had happened that he would…that he would be _scared of Thor_. It was ludicrous, completely and utterly silly to even think about—being afraid of Thor. Thor would never hurt him.

But…

Steve _had_ been afraid… just not of Thor.

Steve raises his head and looks down at the larger man, running a hand through his hair, smoothing it away from his face.

“I wasn’t scared of you” Steve says and Thor raises his head, “but I was scared.”

“Of what?” Thor asks, and his big hands run soothingly down his spine, making him shiver and igniting a flame in his belly. Thor’s hands slide under his soaked shirt to move against the slick skin of his back and Steve can’t help arching a little into the firm touch, “Of- ah- of this,” he admits.

Thor’s hands withdraw immediately and it’s only Steve’s thighs locking around his hips that stops Thor withdrawing completely, “No!” Steve gasps and lunges forward, pushing Thor down onto the ground and holding him there by the shoulders. He licks his lips and rain runs from his hair to drip onto the other man’s bare chest. “Please” he breathes and Thor nods reluctantly, pain still twisting his expression into something ugly that Steve feels the need to fix _immediately_.

“Fear probably wasn’t the right word. Apprehension may have been a better description.”

Thor looks puzzled now, which is better than before, but still not what he’s going for. 

“It’s like, well, I don’t have much experience with, er, physical intimacies, and you’re- well- you’re a god Thor.”

Thor nods as though to confirm that yes, he is indeed a god, but doesn’t seem to understand further than that what Steve is trying to say. Steve runs a hand through his hair, looking away and knowing from the heat on his cheeks that he’s blushing fiercely.

“What I’m trying to say is that I don’t… I don’t have much experience when it comes to sexual situations of any kind, but especially when it comes to men and when I woke up and couldn’t actually remember _doing_ anything I was maybe a little apprehensive about confronting you in case… well, in case I was…”

Thor is frowning, but a lot of the darkness has bled from his expression in the wake of Steve’s stuttering awkward confession and his hands are resting comfortably on Steve’s hips again- a gentle, reassuring presence. “In case you were what Steven?” Thor asks.

Steve swallows. “In case I was bad at it.” 

Thor’s face blanks and he says slowly, “Bad… at sexual intercourse?”

Steve blushes to his roots and it has to be unmistakable by now. He doesn’t think he can speak so he nods instead and bites his lip. Then, before he can process it, Thor has sat up and spun them around so that Steve is flat on his back with the God of Thunder looming over him, amusement and something deeper, and hungrier in his face.

Steve stares up at him with wide eyes, but immediately finds them fluttering closed when Thor hoists up his thighs to wrap around his waist and then settles in the cradle of his pelvis so it becomes _impossible_ to ignore the other man’s nakedness. Then he bends down to kiss Steve, hot and deep and thorough, leaving no doubt as to his intentions. Steve’s vision swims and he gasps when he is released.

When Thor speaks his voice is husky. “If that was all that ailed your mind Steven I could have easily and most fervently assuaged your fears.”

Steve’s heart stutters and his shoulders sag in relief. “Oh thank god.”

Thor laughs heartily and looks down at him with warm, searching eyes as if contemplating something. Then Steve is once again manhandled into position, yanked upwards and into Thor’s lap. He huffs a laugh when he is settled over his thighs again, with Thor kneeling. “I’m getting the feeling you like this position,” Steve huffs and as Thor kisses down the column of his wet throat it morphs into a breathy sigh that makes Thor smile against his throat.

Thor hums and says. “As do you. I remember your reactions quite well from our previous coupling.”

Steve shudders. “I- ah!- liked this?” Thor soothes the bite with his tongue and the sensation of wet and warmth and sting makes Steve go boneless. 

Thor chuckles, rueful. “I must admit I did not get the chance to explore your body in the same way you did mine, but I can guarantee you I most ardently enjoyed this position.”

Steve’s brain stalls at that and images form in front of his eyes that absolutely cannot be true. There’s no way a guy like Thor can possibly be saying what Steve thinks he’s saying. He licks his lips. “Do you mean that I didn’t, um…receive?”

Thor stops abusing his neck to look up at him a moment, amused once more and a little chiding. “Steven,” he says, slow and a little sly, “do you feel a sharp, yet satisfying ache above your tailbone that every time you move makes you remember the phantom sensation of completion and fulfilment?”

Steve blushes, and really he must be completely red right now. “Ah, no?”

Thor smiles and presses impossibly closer to his body, kissing him deeply and whispering, “I assure you Steven, when it comes to giving pleasure in the bedroom you have _nothing_ to worry yourself over. You are a most adept and passionate lover.”

Steve’s really too busy being turned on at the way Thor’s looking at him to be embarrassed so he surges forward and kisses Thor, harder than he’s dared before and when Thor bucks up, Steve grinds down hard and unforgiving so that their cocks rub against each other. Thor moans and Steve gets a sudden flash of memory: Thor over his thighs as Steve is now, moaning and moving up and down on his cock. Steve freezes and his hands dig into Thor’s shoulders at the remembered rapture on Thor’s face.

“What is it Steven?” Thor asks, soaked, naked and unbelievably delectable. Steve licks his lips.

“What would you say if I asked you to fuck me?”

Thor blinks and a few raindrops fall from his eyelashes. It’s still pouring around them and if it was anyone else Steve would be worried about pneumonia, but Thor is an alien god and Steve’s a super soldier. They’re made of harder stuff than that. 

Thor’s eyes darken and his hands slide lower down Steve’s back until the tips are just breaching the line of his sodden sweatpants. Steve’s breath stutters and his eyes drop to half-mast.

“Steven” Thor breathes and his lips brush lightly over Steve’s rapid-fire pulse, “you should not ask questions you already know the answers to.”

Steve grins.

\--

Clint necks the bottle of scotch, sitting on the counter of his personal, private bar and glowers at the New York skyline. Sheet rain falls across the scene and obscures his view, but it matches his mood so what the fuck does he care right?

Clint snorts. Like he gives a shit about any of this. Fuck this noise, this life. Fuck it all.

The beep and whiz of his door sliding open one room away catches his attention and he turns just in time to see Tony rounding the corner to the bar, hands thrust deep into his pockets. There’s a smirk on his face and motor oil on his tank top and Clint wants to punch him.

“What’s this then? Pity party for one?”

“Get the fuck out Stark.”

“No can do Merida. You see that’s my favourite scotch you’re necking right now and I happen to be craving a drink like burning.”

Clint glares. “Don’t you have a bar double this size in your sad little bachelor pad? Get the fuck out Stark and don’t forget to let the door hit you on the way out.”

“Automatic doors Barton and for some reason your bar is the one that has the hard liquor. I’m pretty sure you’ve been stealing the good stuff from mine and swapping it out with the swill I stocked yours with when you moved in.”

Clint can’t help but smirk and Stark snorts, “Typical. The audacity of squatters.”

“Tenants,” Clint corrects smoothly, taking another drink from the crystal bottle.

“That would suggest you actually pay rent, which you don’t,” Tony puts in, coming over and standing obnoxiously close to pull the bottle out of Clint’s hand. Clint watches the long line of his throat undulate as he drinks then looks away.

“You never asked us to.”

Tony stares out the window, “No. I didn’t,” he says and there’s something hidden in those words Clint can’t quite grasp.

Clint looks back at Tony, and because he’s a fucking idiot, says, “I meant what I said you know.”

“About me getting the fuck out?”

Clint hesitates and it’s not something he’s used to.

Tony looks up at the ceiling. “About us?” he ventures quietly.

“Yeah,” Clint breathes and chuckles ruefully. “Fuck me, but yeah. Yeah I did.”

Stark snorts. “Bet you’re regretting that one right about now.”

Clint mirrors the sound. Understatement of the century that one. 

“Yeah. It’s fucking terrifying.”

Tony looks at him. “I didn’t think assassins got scared.”

Clint shrugs. “We don’t. Well, not at the stuff that other people do.”

There’s a pause where they both take another drink. Somehow they’ve gravitated together so they’re leaning against one another—Clint on his high perch and Tony leaning against his arm, head almost touching his shoulder.

“That’s fucked up,” Tony declares and Clint smiles into the bottle of scotch.

“Yeah.” He takes another drink.

There’s a long moment of silence before Tony speaks. “So we’re really going to do this huh?”

“Looks like.”

Tony looks down and Clint stares at him. “It’s what you wanted,” he reminds the genius, nudging him with his toe. “You don’t get to have second thoughts.”

Tony chuckles and it’s a bitter thing. “No I guess not.”

Clint stares at him. “But you are.”

Tony hesitates too long and Clint hurls the bottle of scotch across the room. It smashes spectacularly against the far wall and Tony’s head snaps up. 

“What the fuck?!” He yelps, turning look at Clint, eyes wide and angry. “That was my best bottle you prick!”

Clint hops down off the bar and gets in Tony’s face, expression contorted into a snarl. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on you sanctimonious prick,” he hisses and stalks away.

Tony catches up to him in his private lounge and grabs him by the shoulders, hauling him around. “Now wait a minute-”

Clint snaps.

He cracks him one right across the jaw and it feels incredible. Tony goes down hard and Clint stands over him, breathing ragged with anger, shaking out his fist. “No _you_ wait a minute you asshole and _listen up_.”

Tony glares at him, rubbing his jaw, but doesn’t try to get up or speak.

“Good,” he sneers, anger surging through him like a mad, lashing current of electricity.

Clint takes a breath through his nose and lets it out slowly, preparing himself. “You don’t get to do this shit okay? You don’t get to jerk us around—jerk _me_ around—and then try to back out. It’s. Not. Okay!” Clint punctuates each word with a sharp finger point. “You started this. This is your fault. You playing puppet-master so _you_ get to deal with the consequences. Alright?”

Tony clenches his jaw.

Clint crosses his arms over his chest and glares down at the billionaire. “And another thing. Now I have no idea what’s going through your head Stark, but I’m gonna tell you something that you apparently have to have spelt out for your genius brain to comprehend. You do not—and I mean _never_ —take a man who has had his mind stolen from him and played with, drug him, and _do the exact same thing!_ ”

Tony’s face blanks immediately, paling, and Clint feels a surge of satisfaction. “Yeah. That’s right you fuck-head. You damn bastard. See if I ever trust you again.”

Clint shakes his head and walks away. Tony’s voice stops him.

“I didn’t…”

Clint spins around. “Damn right you didn’t!” He spits. “You _never_...” Clint swallows roughly and doesn’t finish. 

Tony shifts to his knees and doesn’t meet his eyes, saying, “I’m sorry Clint.”

Clint laughs bitterly. “Why do you do this shit Tony? Try so hard to get what you want then throw it all away like it never meant anything to you. Like it was all a game.”

Tony swallows and bows his head and Clint has a moment of terrible comprehension. His face slackens and his voice dulls. “Unless it was just a game.”

Tony’s head snaps up, eyes wide and shocked. “No.”

“Unless we never meant anything to you, unless _I_ never-”

“No!”

Clint laughs. “Then what man? What the fuck is wrong with you? _What do you want?!_ ”

Tony makes a sound from somewhere deep inside and his torso jolts. 

Clint flinches. Oh fuck no.

“Are you…” He can’t say it. Oh fucking _fuck_. God dammit. This isn’t happening. Tony Stark isn’t going to make himself into the victim. No way. Fuck that shit.

“Jesus Stark,” he says as Tony convulses forward with a sob, wrapping his arms around himself.

Tony laughs wetly. “Fuck you Barton.”

“Fuck you.” He snaps back, but it’s got no heat now and he hates Stark for that. For taking his anger away from him just as quickly as he brought it on. The fucker.

Clint runs a hand through his hair and glares up at the ceiling. “Fucking hell,” he breathes.

Tony laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees.

Then there is only silence.

\--

Natasha finds Bruce exactly where Jarvis said he would be. He looks small and too still standing with his back to her under the spray of one of Tony’s ridiculously opulent rain showers. Here Bruce Banner looks just as disarmingly harmless as he decidedly isn’t and not for the first time Natasha finds herself wondering about that. How an inoffensive, mild-manner man like Bruce Banner could ever split his soul and find a monster inside. 

Natasha moves quietly towards the shower, shedding her clothes easily. She doesn’t make a sound as she walks but he knows she’s there. She can tell by the way his head cocks, only slightly, in acknowledgment. He’s the only person who can always tell when she’s in the room with them, but she’ll never tell him that.

(The Black Widow has to be able get the jump on anyone, even him, so she’ll keep working until she can do it.)

She steps under the spray and has to fight not to hiss. It’s blisteringly hot and up close she can see the angry red of Bruce’s skin that says he’s been standing under the spray for a long time. She turns the heat down to a manageable temperature, still hot, but not hot enough to burn and moves so she’s standing close to his back. Her breath hits the skin in between his shoulder blades, and they stand there for a long time just sharing proximity. 

“Bruce” she whispers and her lips almost brush his back, “Bruce.”

His head lolls, a quarter turn to the side, and she can see that his eyes are glazed. That he’s not here with her-- not really. She takes a deep breath, considers the new information. She’s seen him get like this before in moments of stress, when he has to shut down to keep the Hulk locked away. Hide his consciousness somewhere deep down where the monster can’t reach. She’s never been the one to bring him back up though. That has always been Tony’s job—or Steve’s when he’s not available. Natasha doesn’t know how to do this.

(The Black Widow would grab him, spin him around and slap him hard across the face. No messing around. The Black Widow never messes around.)

God... What is she doing here?

She’s an assassin, a spy. She isn’t dependable. Isn’t trustworthy. Why is she here? She needs one of the others—Tony maybe. 

She’s about two seconds away from walking out to get someone when there’s a small gust of air that almost sounds like a word, unconscious, acknowledging: _“T’sha”_

Natasha freezes and her mouth parts. 

Licking her lips, she says tentatively, “Bruce? Can you hear me?”

There’s no answer, but she knows she didn’t imagine it. He said her name. Bruce said her name. He knew she was here and answered when she called for him. He responded… to her. She swallows. 

Bruce feels safe enough to respond to her.

(No one trusts the Black Widow. The Black Widow kills indiscriminately and without mercy. People do not trust that kind of person—the kind of person who is no longer a person, but a synonym for death. A harbinger of pain and suffering.)

Natasha lifts her hands and slides her arms around his waist, gentle, so gentle, and rests her head in the cradle of his shoulder blades. She screws her eyes shut and feels her right hand slide up to rest over his heart. It beats steady and true under her hand and she lets the feeling lull her to relax against his back, moulding herself to him. 

“Bruce,” she sighs and gets no response. 

The water beats down on them and Natasha starts whispering things, nonsense things, about her, about her past—things she’s only ever told Clint. Just to fill the silence. To quell her rising panic that he might not come back to her this time. 

She talks about Draichov’s daughter, the Hungarian doctors, and the whole town that was desecrated in the Russian wilds. She tells him about her parents-- what she can remember of them-- and of the Red Room. Of the practical lessons and the kill tests where they pitted the strong against the weak to hone their skills. She tells him of her first kill--a small girl, weaker than the rest--that she had roomed with for three years before she was handed a knife and ordered to slit her throat. There are thousands of stories, but she can perhaps only remember a hundred or so. She buries her face in his back, mumbling a steady stream of words that make up the story’s committed to memory long ago and keeps going until her voice is hoarse and her head is throbbing.

Then there’s a hand holding the back of her skull, thumb digging in and massaging away the tension and Natasha blinks at the face in front of her, uncomprehending.

“You got a bit caught up I think” Bruce says softly and Natasha swallows. Begins to straighten out of her relaxed slouch, eyes refocusing, face blanking. Bruce catches her shoulder and says, “Don’t.”

Natasha frowns and Bruce’s face does something complicated. “You look so relaxed,” he says softly. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I’m a mess.” She says, confused—and hates, _hates immediately_ that she does that without even thinking. That she trusts him with that so easily.

(The Black Widow never admits to weakness because she doesn’t have any.)

Bruce smiles wryly, self-deprecating, “Well you’re in good company.” 

His eyes turn probing and Natasha has to fight not to flinch away at the calm understanding she finds in them. What has she ever done to deserve that from him?

“You can tell me you know.” He says, like anyone else would comment on the weather. It makes her irrationally angry. 

Before she can stop it she says, acerbic and bitter, “I think I’ve told you enough already.”

She expects to see hurt in his eyes, for him to shut down and shy away like she always imagined he would when faced with the real her, the real Natasha who can only break special, fragile things. Instead she sees only compassion, sudden and overwhelming. 

“You haven’t told me anything that would make me think any less of you Natasha,” Bruce says, unerringly getting to the heart of the issue, and somehow it’s exactly what she needs-- and dreads-- to hear from him. Relief washes through her as well as a healthy dose of panic. Because the Black Widow can only hurt, she cannot heal. The Black Widow cannot give Bruce what he needs—she can only give him pain. 

If there’s one thing Bruce Banner doesn’t need it’s anymore pain. 

Natasha stiffens and nods at Bruce in truthful appreciation for the answer, turning her demeanour professional. Bruce senses the shift and narrows his eyes at her slightly, but otherwise doesn’t react. 

“I’m glad to hear it Doctor. I think I’ll go and tell the other you’re alright now. They were worried and will be glad to hear you’re alright.” She says and then turns to exit.

(Exit because the Black widow always exits, hardly ever escapes, and she certainly never ever flees.)

“They were worried,” Bruce’s voice muses quietly, “or you were?”

\--

Steve arches into the light touch of lips at his neck, making it a firm press and Thor’s hands move under his pants to cup his ass firmly and roll him against his erect length.

Steve grins and hooks his thumbs into his waistband, lowering his pants enough for Thor to rip them off him entirely. He gasps as he’s freed and the meeting of wet skin against wet skin sends him sliding down Thor’s thighs as far as he can go and causes Thor’s hands to briefly fall between the cheeks of his ass, brushing something small and hidden. Steve gasps and Thor pulls back. 

“ _Nonono_ ,” Steve says hurriedly, eyes fluttering shut, head thrown back. “Do that again.”

One hand braced against his lower back, Thor’s other hand ventures downwards once more to probe around his smooth parted skin, finding the furrowed muscle and exploring, massaging gently. Without conscious thought, Steve arches his back to spread himself wider for the questing fingers, leading Thor to rub more firmly and sending sparks skittering up Steve’s spine.

“Oh, _oh_ ” Steve breathes, “no wonder people like this.”

Thor chuckles, “You do not have anything inside you yet Steven.”

Steve reaches back and grabs Thor’s hand, putting enough pressure on his finger to breach the ring of muscle. It’s just enough to hold it open, to make it flutter, but it’s deliciously satisfying in a way he didn’t know was possible before now. Steve hums and meets Thor’s eyes. They’re bright with concentration, but so _so_ dark with arousal and a kind of predatory hunger Steve can only ever remember seeing in the faces of starving people.

Confident Thor will take initiative on his own now, Steve removes his guiding hand and braces both hands on Thor’s shoulders to push back and invite his finger in further. It stings, but the burn is satisfying and the breach of what feels like half of Thor’s finger makes him moan aloud for the first time.

Thor looks startled and entirely enraptured. “Steven” he husks, “we will need some form of lubricant.”

Steve pauses to think for a moment before inspirations strikes. He brings the hand Thor has on his back up to run through his hair. Thor looks confused for a moment but when he draws his hand away its slick enough that it should work for their purposes. He arches an eyebrow and Steve smiles. “Hair gel” he says simply, and kisses Thor again, deep and wet and hot even under the pouring rain.

He feels Thor’s probing fingers remove themselves before his other hand takes their place and immediately there is a slick finger sliding into him and making him bite his lip on a moan so as not to completely embarrass himself. 

Thor begins to move slowly in and out and keeps a restraining hand on Steve’s back to stop him from taking too much into himself too fast. In short order there’s another finger inside of him and Steve has to struggle not to fuck himself back on them the burn feels so good. Steve drops his head against Thor’s collarbone and gasps when Thor sucks a hickey into his neck, the suction the perfect counterpoint to the fingers fucking in and out of him, faster and faster. 

“Let me,” he gasps, throwing his head back and causing Thor’s teeth to scrape against his neck. He shudders, “let me fuck myself please.”

Thor’s hand tightens on his back and a moan builds in his throat when Steve pushes back against him, heedless of the barrier. “You must not hurt yourself,” Thor mutters, his wet hair dragging across Steve’s nipples, making him squirm.

“Okay, okay.” Steve breathes and Thor moves the hand away to begin tracing around his nipples instead. Steve bites his lips and a high whine catches in his throat when Thor scratches his nails against the pert pink nub. Thor notices and does it again, and again, and pistons his fingers harder and faster, grind their hips together, slick dicks leaking, until Steve’s giving a halting moan on every breath, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure.

By the time Thor’s working the third finger inside of him Steve’s more than impatient. He goads Thor into prepping him quickly and then, finally, he’s pressing down onto the slick, hot pressure of Thor’s cock. 

It hurts, but it hurts _so good_ and god damn it if that’s something Captain American never thought he’d have a taste for. Steve moans as his ass presses flush against Thor’s pelvis. His eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Are you alright?” Thor asks, panting and Steve answers with a groan and a sloe-eyed look that has Thor bucking up and jostling Steve deliciously. Steve whines, unable to hold in the degrading sound and Thor’s eyes go impossibly darker. 

They move together seamlessly in the rain, two golden heads bent together, powerful limbs working hard. The storm rages around them, but they hardly notice. They are two sinuously moving, hard muscled figures in the eye of the storm—the Weather God and the Captain of Heroes. They are majestic, they are brilliant, they are as spectacular as the lightening that strikes the highest point of Avengers tower and bathes the roof in white light. 

Thor thrusts upward and Steve grinds down as the lightning strikes. The flash of light reflects off of their wet bodies making Thor’s alien blue eyes stand out against the gold of his skin, the spun silk of his hair. It makes Steve want everything. Everything this man, this god, can give him, and to give back in return. They move faster.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come. He was so wound up from the preparation that it only takes a few strokes of Thor’s had on his dick before he’s coming hard, clenching around the god and throwing his head back to taste the rain. The rain obscures everything, runs cold down his too hot body and plasters his hair in front of his eyes. Come shoots across Thor’s chest and Steve’s whole body shakes with it before slumping to rest their foreheads together. Thor stops moving and Steve pants against his face, licking his lips and catching Thor’s, tangling them up in a heated kiss that brings attention to Thor’s insistent length inside of him. Steve blinks and Thor smooths his wet fringe out of his eyes.

“Keep going” he breathes, clenching down a bit on the hard cock inside of him, feeling it twitch.

“Are you sure?” Thor asks, looking only concerned even though he must be desperate by now.

Steve nods and breaks out of Thor’s solid hold to lay himself back against the wet roof tiles. Thor blinks down at him, his cock hard and red and huge. It makes Steve want to spread himself wide, so he does. He must look inviting because Thor licks his lips and stares down past his flaccid cock towards his hole which Steve knows must look raw and abused by now. 

“Please Thor,” he begs, suddenly needing this as much as Thor. Even if he can’t be aroused again yet he still wants this. To feel the completion of it, feel the other man come inside of him. To take care of Thor like he took care of him. “Please…”

Thor doesn’t need to be asked twice because he’s pushing Steve’s knees up to his ears and sliding in smooth and easy like they’ve done this a thousand time before. Steve gasps because even if he can’t get hard it still feels amazing, oversensitive and maddening, but amazing. Thor smiles at the sound and begins to move again, hard and deep and slow. And really he must be desperate by now, but he keeps the pace slow and achingly careful for Steve’s sake. He’s so touched by the gesture and overcome by how good this feels that he’s moaning again, each little noise punched out of him on every in-stroke. When Thor groans and releases Steve’s almost disappointed it’s over except, oh, except that he can feel it—feel Thor releasing inside of him. Steve gasps as Thor fills him, his length pulsing inside of him a few times before ceasing. 

It’s incredible. 

When he’s done Thor releases his legs and sighs in contentment, rolling over and taking Steve with him. Steve rests his head on Thor’s collarbone and closes his eyes, sighing.

“That was swell,” he breathes and Thor chuckles.

“It was indeed very satisfactory.” He kisses Steve’s forehead. “You were most vivacious.”

Steve grins. “I could say the same about you.”

Thor nods. “Asgardians are known for their stamina across the realms.” 

Steve laughs. “I don’t have a problem believing that.”

Thor’s hand moves down to rest on his ass, moving between his cheeks to feel around his hole. Steve hums and bends a knee to open himself further. 

“That feels nice,” he breathes.

Thor chuckles and dips his finger in a little, teasing. “I am merely checking that you are not damaged sweet one.”

Steve grins up at the god. “Sweet one?”

Thor frowns, endearingly confused. “I have been told this is a term of endearment on your world. Was I ill informed?”

“No,” Steve says, kissing Thor’s neck reverently. “No it’s perfect.”

Thor kisses the top of his head and they lay back together, sated and content. Overhead the storm clouds break and the rain finally stops. 

\--

Clint catches his arm as Tony tries to walk past and out the door. “Wait.”

Tony doesn’t look at him, keeps his eyes down. “I get it Clint,” he says sounding worn. “I’m an asshole. I won’t… I won’t do it again okay?”

It sounds so wrong. That defeated tone from Tony Stark, the Avenger’s resident cocky asshole. It makes Clint want to growl or maybe throw something again.

Tony sighs and it sounds resigned. 

Then he’s trying to pull away and Clint holds on tighter to stop him. “Let me go.”

Clint doesn’t.

Tony struggles against him and Clint tightens his hold. “Let _go_ fucker!”

Clint growls at him. “Shut up.”

Tony struggles in earnest and then Clint’s pushing him back against the closest wall when he gets to be too much for one arm to hold. They hit the wall hard and a picture Clint never bothered to look at falls to the floor and shatters. Tony thrashes and tries to push him off, but Clint’s a hand-to-hand expert and Tony doesn’t have his suit so it’s not much of a contest. It still fucking hurts though when Tony manages to slam his elbow into his side and knock the breath out of him. Clint reasserts his hold and grits his teeth.

“Will you fucking stop please?!” He yells and Tony glares at him. Clint can see for the first time that his eyes are red-rimmed and haunted. He has to stop himself from swearing.

“This wasn’t how it was supposed to go,” Clint says, exasperated, and Tony gives him a hang dog look.

“How was it supposed to go then Barton?” Tony asks and he looks like such a fucking _shade_ of himself that Clint just grits his teeth and _tells him_.

“You were supposed to apologise you dick! And mean it! Not make excuses and feel sorry for yourself.” He snaps and Tony blinks, opening his mouth to no doubt say that he _did_ apologise, but Clint doesn’t have time for that shit so he slaps a hand over his mouth. Tony glares and Clint huffs at him.

“You were supposed to admit you were wrong and actually _tell me_ that you love me, like, _with words_ instead of drugged sex so we could get on with the make-up sex, then find the others and get on with the group make-up sex. After they yelled at you for a bit too, for drugging them and being a complete _asshole_ about it.”

Tony, for once, actually looks speechless and Clint rolls his eyes. “You’re a moron,” he complains. “A genius, fucking moron. Why the hell do I even love you?”

Before Tony can say something stupid again, Clint surges forward to kiss him, a hard, dirty kiss that has him moaning in seconds with his legs wrapped around Clint’s waist. They separate, breathing hard and Tony lets his head fall back against the wall.

“Okay so I’m an asshole,” Tony says like it’s a fucking _revelation_ and Clint glares up at him, gets a better grip on the man’s hips and rolls against him teasingly because, yeah, _he_ can be an asshole too. 

Tony huffs a laugh. “Ah!--you bastard. Okay, okay. Um, I’m sorry. Very very sorry for drugging you and making you relive your Loki brain-rape. That wasn’t cool of me and I honestly didn’t even think of it that way which probably brings us back to the asshole thing. Again—very _very_ sorry for that.”

Clint rolls his eyes, rips Tony’s shirt over his head and sucks an angry red hickey into the skin of his collarbone, rolling the skin between his teeth. 

“I—ah!—Jesus _Christ_ Barton. I was wrong. Wrong for being an asshole, wrong for drugging everyone without their permission, wrong for not telling you I love you with words like a well-adjusted person and instead going through some elaborate Machiavellian scheme. I was wrong.”

Clint slows down and detaches himself from Tony’s nipples. Tony licks his lips. “I do, y’know, love you n’stuff. Like, _all_ of you.”

Clint grins. “That’s good. Cos it’d be a real pain to be in love with you if you were insensitive, manipulative, borderline-sociopathic _and_ an asshole instead of just stupid.”

Tony snorts. “You’re just sunshine and roses aren’t you Barton?”

Clint’s grin turns sharklike. “Damn straight Stark.”

Then they’re kissing again and Clint’s walking Tony from the wall to the couch and following him down onto it. They tear each other’s clothes off and are too impatient for lube. They grind together instead, naked and sweating and biting each other’s mouths savagely. It’s rough and quick and dirty—a little bit mean—just like them. Clint growls when he comes and bites down on the meat between Tony’s shoulder and neck, drawing blood. It sets Tony off, who arches under him and comes in long pearly ropes, all over his t-shirt. 

Clint looks down at his come ruined t-shirt and rips it off completely from where it was half-hanging on him ripped at the stitches, leaving them both naked. He slumps over Tony and kisses his neck tenderly, just once, before laying his head down and catching his breath. 

“Well Katniss,” Tony says and Clint can _hear_ his smirk, “that was fun. You sure pack a wallop in the sack.”

Clint touches the blooming bruise on his jaw. “And out of it.”

Tony smirks. “Feeling guilty Barton?”

Clint snorts. Idiot. “Fuck you.”

Tony yawns. “Give me a few minutes.”

Clint gets up and goes to the desk in the corner. Tony watches, idly curious from his position on the couch, as Clint removes a tube of lubricant. 

Tony grins at him. “I like the way you think Barton.”

Clint smirks and stalks towards the dishevelled man, palming the lube. “That’s not all you’ll like Stark. Not when I’m through with you.”

Tony’s eyes darken with lust and his hand moves to stroke himself lazily. “That’s big talk Legolas. You got anything to back it up?”

Clint straddles Tony’s lap with a predators grace and holds his wrists over his head, grinning down at him. “I can think of a few things.”

Then he reaches back behind him, twisting impossibly and unerringly finds Tony’s perineum, making him arch. “Got to love a bendy assassin,” he gasps.

Clint grins like a predator and gets to work.

\--

Natasha freezes and looks back over her shoulder. 

Bruce stands where she left him, wet hair hanging in his face, the edges curling stubbornly even under the heavy beat of water. He looks perfectly composed, right down to the placid lake of his deep brown eyes. But there’s something about him that puts her on edge, has her sensing a trap. 

She lets her fingers drop from where she was reaching for a towel.

“Of course I was worried,” she says evenly, “You’re my teammate. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

“How is it,” Bruce marvels, “that you can be so absolutely heartbreakingly open and honest with me when I’m in deep mediation, practically in a coma, and so clamped up and uncomfortable when you actually have my full attention?”

Natasha freezes, feeling caught out and laid open before his eyes. And from the look on his face Bruce knows it. Shock ripples through her, that he was aware of her words, that he’s pushing this, _pushing her_ , and she’s across the room and under the spray with him again before she’s made the conscious decision to do so. 

Her mouth is a thin angry line, but her eyes are wide and wild with panic. Her vivid hair plasters to her skull and she feels fear well up in her chest, an unfamiliar emotion even in the worst of situations, but so familiar around him.

(The Black widow is never afraid, but she’s never been so disastrously outclassed as when she was pitted against the Hulk.)

“What did you say to me?” She hisses and hopes desperately that her fear comes off as anger.

But Bruce understands fear better than anyone, has been exposed to it all his life. He frowns down at her, reading the fear on her face as easily as one of his scientific journals. 

“Why are you running from me?” he asks.

Natasha grits her teach and her heart pulses wildly in her chest. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m right here. No one’s running anywhere.” 

A pause. 

“No,” he decides as quietly and resolutely as Bruce does anything else, “you’re not.”

He doesn’t need to crowd her against the shower wall to hold her in place—his eyes do that well enough. “You don’t need to hide from me.”

She stiffens.

“You have no idea what I need.”

“I think you need someone to look at you and not see a monster.”

Natasha stills completely and can’t look away from him, eyes flaring wide. “What?” she breathes and her heartbeat is loud now, so loud he must be able to hear it.

Bruce doesn’t let up, his gaze steady and even, his voice gentle but firm. 

“I think you need someone who doesn’t look at you and see the Black Widow, the killer, the assassin-- the spy.” He hesitates then says, “I think you need someone to love you Natasha.”

She swallows. “You’re wrong.”

He hums. “Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Is that the Black Widow speaking or Natasha?”

Her mouth grows dry. “We’re the same person,” she says and it comes off more defensive than she means it too. 

Bruce shakes his head sadly. “No you’re not.”

“What do you know about it?” she snaps and Bruce looks at her long and hard.

“She’s a part of you, but she’s not you. That’s like saying that Steve is Captain America and Tony is Iron Man. Steve’s a lot of things Captain America isn’t. He’s a vintage board game collector, an artist, a lover of classic cars. And sure Iron Man’s just Tony in a flashy metal suit, but he isn’t a charismatic billionaire with an altruistic steak a mile long and a penchant for taking in strays.” 

Bruce looks at her with that constant, tranquil calm, and a knowing, a wisdom that ages him years in a matter of moments. “We’re not our alter-ego’s Natasha. They’re a part of us, but we’re not them. There’s room for both of us—inside. Take it from someone who knows.”

Natasha looks down, away from his eyes because she can’t keep looking at him. 

“I’ve been the Black Widow since I was four years old,” she says quietly and lets the water run over her and wash away her shame. “I don’t know how to be Natasha anymore.”

Bruce looks at her and then reaches out a hand to pull her close. She goes gratefully, above protesting, and lays her head against his neck, soaks in the warmth of his skin. His hand rubs up and down her arm and the water rushes over them, constant and soothing. 

“Of course you do. I see her every day.”

She frowns, but doesn’t move away. “I think I’d remember that.”

Bruce laughs, a true laughs, startling and unexpectedly hearty. She likes it.

“Yes, well. Just yesterday Natasha made me tea just the way I like it when I came up from the lab without me even having to ask.”

“You looked cold.” She says neutrally. 

“Would the Black Widow care if I was cold?”

Natasha opens her mouth and then shuts it again. Bruce smiles again. “Natasha does a lot of nice things for me.”

“She puts blankets over me when I fall asleep on the couch, she gives me head massages when she knows I have tension headaches, she leaves books she thinks I might like propped open on the table because she knows no one but us reads fiction in their spare time, she makes extra vegetarian food and puts it in the fridge for me because she knows the others don’t always think to make it. When you think about it Natasha’s pretty great. She does a lot for me.”

“If the Black Widow is an assassin and a spy, a cold hearted killer,” Bruce says, running a hand down her spine, “then who is it that does all those nice things for me every day? Because I’d really like to thank them.”

Natasha swallows. “Whatever you think I need you’re wrong. The Black Widow and I might be separate, I’ll give you that, but we’re the same deep down. I’m still in control of the hand that kills. It’s still me, my thoughts.” She looks up at Bruce, piercing. “Do you control his hands, his thoughts?”

Bruce pauses. “No,” he admits.

“No…” she closes her eyes, “We might not act the same, but we’re the same person. Two sides of the same coin is still one coin.”

Bruce is silent for a moment, considering, then he cups her face in hands and tilts his head down to kiss her firmly, chastely. “Natasha,” he breathes as they separate. She sighs. “You’re not her. Not in the way you think. Please…”

Something breaks inside her then at the earnestness of his words, a carefully nestled grain of hope sprouts to life, cracks something open in her—something raw and a little desperate. “Then what am I supposed to think Bruce? Tell me, because I have no idea anymore.” She closes her eyes, “I have no idea who I am.”

Bruce pushes their foreheads together and says, slowly, gently and with the utmost reverence, “Natasha, don’t you see?”

“Tell me.” She replies, desperate and near the precipice of something indefinable. 

Bruce takes a deep breath and seems to reach deep inside himself for the answer. “She’s the part of you that evolved to deal with the trauma of the Red Room. Of being ripped away from your family and being forced to murder your closest friends. She’s the little bit of you that rose from the darkness to face off against death at the hands of older, stronger kids so you stayed safe.”

She stops breathing. 

“She’s always been there. The part of you that strives to protect and keeps you alive at all costs-- breathed into life into by circumstance and pain. She’s the part of you that became vicious and ruthless so you didn’t have to.” Bruce strokes a hand down her cheek and wipes away her tears. “Natasha. The Black Widow kept you alive, kept you sane. But that’s only a fragment, the darkness that resides in each of us personified. For most people it never sees the light of day but for people like us…”

Natasha looks up sharply and has a horrible moment of crystal-clear understanding. “The Hulk,” she breathes.

Bruce smiles and it’s full of remembered pain. “Is really an angry little boy desperately trying to reach out and save his mother from dying right in front of him. The part of me that railed in the back of my mind every day I was beaten by my father. That wanted vengeance for my mother. He’s the trauma of my past brought to life. Just like you.” Bruce smiles sadly and brushes his thumb over her cheekbone. “The only difference between you and I is that an accident didn’t give your trauma independent will and a big green body.” 

“We’re the same Natasha,” Bruce says. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. Not like that.”

Natasha closes her eyes. “I’m so stupid.”

Bruce shakes his head. “Just ill informed.”

Natasha quirks a smile. “Is that science-code for stupid?”

Bruce smiles. “I don’t think that’s a thing. I think we just laugh those people out of the room or ignore them until they go away or something.”

“You’d ignore me?” Natasha asks, amused, and Bruce shakes his head.

“I just said stupid people didn’t I? You’re far from stupid Natasha Romanoff. Much more than a pretty face.”

“You think I’m pretty?” She asks and it makes Bruce smile. They’ve had to use the Black Widow gambit on enough horny, delusional men that it’s become a bit of a running joke.

“The prettiest,” Bruce answers dutifully, but the softness of his eyes says it’s genuine. 

“Doctor you’ll make me blush.”

Bruce kisses her forehead, then her cheekbone, then her nose. “I hope to do more than that.”

“Are you propositioning me?” She asks, only half-joking, and is abruptly aware of the water running over them and the negligible space between their bodies. 

“Yes,” Bruce admits, because there’s really no hiding his interest when they’re pressed together from chest to pelvis. 

Natasha smiles and reaches up to kiss him, feeling the last of her fear shatter around her like glass as she does so. “Insatiable,” she teases as she pulls back.

He smiles. “Well I don’t remember much about last time so I think a repeat experience is in order. If only for curiosity’s sake. I’m a man of science you know.”

She pauses. “And you’re not… you’re not angry about last time?”

“At you?”

She nods.

“Why would I be?” He frowns. “If I was going to be mad at anyone it would be Tony.”

Relief rushes through her and she breathes a little easier. 

“Oh good. That’s good.”

“You thought I’d be angry at you?”

“I know you haven’t slept with anyone in a while for… understandable reasons. I didn’t like being the one to take that choice away from you,” She admits.

Bruce nods and smiles wryly. “Again. That was pretty much all Tony, the meddling idiot. I thought we were moving things along at a perfectly respectable pace.”

Natasha shrugs. “In his defence though, I’ve seen icebergs move faster than Steve.”

Bruce smirks and Natasha smirks back. “Do you remember him and Thor?”

Bruce cocks his head, thinking back and she knows he’s found the memory when his smirk morphs into a grin and his pupils flare. “Oh yeah. Wow. That… that’s really hot.”

“Yeah,” she agrees. “We can probably get the video off of Tony.”

“You think he has one?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Please. He’s Tony, of course he does.”

Bruce nods and a fond little smile lifts his mouth at the thought of their resident eccentric mechanic. “I wonder what he had planned for that drug if it didn’t work out the way he wanted it to,” Bruce ponders curiously.

Natasha shrugs and rests her head on his shoulder. “If I had to guess I’d say one big giant orgy.”

Bruce shakes his head and sighs. “I wonder when he’s going to learn that these things evolve in their own time.”

Natasha laughs into his collarbone. “Knowing Tony, probably never.”

“We would have all figured it out eventually,” Bruce says sagely and it makes Natasha raise an eyebrow.

“And you know this?”

“Yep.”

Her eyes narrow. “How?”

Bruce wraps his arms around her tighter and pulls her in, kissing the breath out of her. It’s hot, slick and claiming, their full slips sliding against each other slow and hard, deep and passionate, and it leaves her reeling, panting against his cheek when the separate. She can feel his smile against her forehead.

“Because of that.” He says quietly, tenderly. 

Natasha, beyond words, can only nod. 

\--

Natasha and Bruce are curled up together on one of the communal couches when Thor and Steve stumble down from the roof. Natasha lifts her head from Bruce’s neck and surveys them with raised eyebrows and a blossoming smirk.

Bruce, when he looks to see what has stolen her attention away from his massage, clears his throat and hides his smile in her hair. 

Bruce rubs at a particularly tight knot at the top of her spine and Natasha groans. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles before digging in tighter and making her hiss.

“Sadist,” she mutters and he hums noncommittally.

Bruce looks up at Steve and Thor, having managed to get his grin under control. “You two had better get some dry clothes on before you catch a cold or whatever the Asgardian equivalent is.”

Steve nods, “Sure thing doc,” and pulls Thor along by the arm to the elevator. Natasha watches them go and doesn’t miss Steve’s subtle limp.

“Well they certainly had fun,” Natasha says.

Bruce quirks a smile and drags a hand through her hair, untangling a knot. “You want me to do your hair?”

Natasha nods and Bruce begins skilfully braiding her hair. His gentle, dexterous hands work fast and after he’s done her hair is a sleek crimson plait down to her shoulder blades. She runs her fingers over it and finds the work flawless and tight without being painful.

“Not bad,” she says and Bruce smiles at her, pulling her back against his chest to rest the top of her newly braided head under his chin. 

“I did the horses tails at the shows for extra pocket money when I was a kid,” Bruce offers and it makes Natasha smile to thinks of a young Bruce Banner with too large glasses and a tucked-in plaid shirt shyly patting the horses.

She pulls his arms around her waist and holds his hands over her stomach, closing her eyes. She can hear his slow breathing beside her ear and feel the steady beating of his heart like this. They soak in just being together in the quiet and wait for it all to come together.

“Soon?” Bruce asks.

“Soon,” she confirms and watches the door.

It doesn’t take long.

They’re still sitting like that, reclined together against the side of the couch when Steve and Thor come back in. 

The easy way they interact is more obvious now than before when they were sodden and uncomfortable. Thor moves around in Steve’s space unselfconsciously and Steve touches Thor freely: a hand on the shoulder, a touch to the hip, an arm around the small of his back. It makes Natasha smile and she can feel Bruce doing the same against the top of her skull.

They’re laughing and talking animatedly about something, but the conversation cuts off when they catch sight of Bruce and Natasha on the couch.

Thor loses his smile, but his eyes are no less jovial and are steadily warming the more he looks at them. He nods at Natasha and his eyes twinkle. Natasha looks once at Steve then back to Thor, and smirks. Congratulations pass silently between them. Thor grins at her and slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders. The man in question is too busy staring at the two of them with an expression of dawning wonder to notice the exchange. 

Bruce huffs a laugh she can feel fan against her cheek and turns his face slightly to whisper in her ear. His lips brush at the delicate skin behind. “Would you like the Captain or the God?”

Natasha smiles, slow and playful. “In a minute,” she whispers back before turning in his arms and planting herself in his lap. “Let’s give them something to look at first.”

Bruce sits up to meet her kiss and his hands go to her back to wrap around her waist. He trails his hands up her sides, tickling slightly and she laughs into his mouth. “Bastard.”

“Sadist,” he corrects and pulls her shirt up and over her head. Once she’s free they come together again in a tangle of mouths, slow and achingly sensual. She hears a gasp behind her and it must be Steve because she can’t imagine Thor making that sound. Hands run down her spine and unclip her bra and she shrugs the material from her shoulders. His hands travel up to fondle at her breasts, gentle initially, then catching her off-guard pinching at her nipples viciously, making her shudder and arch into him. 

Natasha smiles down at him. “Sadist,” she confirms and he smiles at her, slow and darker than she would have imagined him capable of before today. Then he looks over her shoulder, connecting eyes with someone and from the fast intake of breath she can tell it’s Steve.

“I’ll take the God,” she says and Bruce smiles and kisses her quick and dirty before she goes.

She climbs off of his lap and stalks towards Thor, quiet and quick. She knows what she must look like naked from the waist up with a predators look in her eyes and Thor’s reaction doesn’t disappoint. He watches her come at him with a steadily darkening gaze and when she leaps for him he catches her effortlessly around the waist and she wraps her legs around his torso. 

Thor’s strong and he moves her easily, spinning them around and walking them to the floor to ceiling windows and pushing her up against the glass to kiss her furiously. The God of Thunder is all power and dominance pressed against her like this and Natasha groans into his mouth and works with what little leverage she has to arch her back against the glass and roll her hips into his. Thor huffs a laugh into her mouth and moves down to bite at her neck in retaliation, leaving himself open. Natasha uses the opportunity to get her arms around his shoulders and break the hold he has on her legs, spinning around his body like a dancer and flipping him onto the floor. Thor lands with an-- _oof!_ \--and Natasha slides over his lap gracefully, holding his hands above his head.

Thor laughs jovially and tests her hold. He could break it, she knows, but his eyes twinkle at her and he relaxes instead. “Well played my lady,” he murmurs.

Natasha smirks and looks over his head summarily losing the capacity for thought completely. Her mouth grows dry as she catches sight of Steve and Bruce on the couch. Down to his underwear, Captain America lies flat on his back gasping as a fully-clothed Bruce, straddled over his thighs to avoid his straining cock, runs feather light touches all over his body interspersed with cruel pinches and scratches that make the blonde arch and gasp in surprised lust. His arms aren’t pinned, but the small, satisfied smile on Bruce’s face tells her he doesn’t need to pin the Captain physically to keep him exactly where he wants him. Bruce meets her eyes and smirks, and it’s one of the sexiest things she’s ever seen. Thor, perhaps noticing her distraction, turns his head to follow her gaze. He takes in a quick breath, “Exquisite.”

Natasha silently agrees then reluctantly turns away from the pair on the couch, her attention diverted back to the Norse God beneath her. At her mercy. 

A slow smile pulls at her mouth and she runs her hands down Thor’s chest to pull teasingly at his nipples. Thor groans and her smile turns into a smirk.

“Shall we?” she says and Thor grins.

“As you wish my lady.”

Over on the couch, Steve groans and begins to arch. Bruce clicks his tongue and the motion stops immediately. Relaxing into the cushions again, Steve Rogers turns his head to the side and pants. He’s hypersensitive, Bruce can tell, from being toyed with this long, but Bruce is reluctant to stop when he’s being so good. So obedient. Soon he’ll be so strung-out he’ll be moaning every time Bruce’s clothes touch his skin. And when he touches him deliberately… well.

Bruce smiles and brushes his thumb over Steve’s bottom lip, pleased when the man’s mouth opens instinctively to suck. He’s so good like this, Bruce thinks with no small amount of wonder, so beautiful. If Bruce had known he could be like this…

Bruce sighs and removes his fingers from Steve’s mouth—two fingers and a thumb—to reach around and grab him by the hair. Steve gasps and his eyes fly open to meet Bruce’s. Bruce keeps his expression placid and runs the fingers of his other hand over the bared expanse of Steve’s neck, causing his eyes to flutter. 

“Look at me,” Bruce orders. A thrill goes through him when Steve does, immediately and without hesitation, and he allows himself a small smile. “Good.”

Steve blushes at the praise and if it isn’t one of the most beautiful sights he’s ever seen then Bruce is a blind man. He bends down slowly, careful not to touch Steve’s oversensitive skin and stops a hairsbreadth away from his lips. 

“You’ve been very good for me Steve,” he praises. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

Steve blushes impossibly redder and bites his lip. He nods.

Bruce tutts. “Answer me verbally please Steve.”

Steve flushes. “Y-yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes Bruce,” he says quietly and Bruce feels a rush of fondness.

“Good,” he purrs and does so, planting a short, chaste kiss on Steve’s lips. At the same time he reaches down to run a finger over the crease of Steve’s hip, making him whimper, and scrape his nails under his bellybutton, making him whine. 

He’s very vocal. Bruce likes that. He pulls back.

Steve blinks up at him, dazed and panting, muscles bunching. Bruce knows he wants to buck up, to arch, to grind into Bruce’s hip until he spills all over himself and Bruce will let him—just not yet.

Bruce removes himself from Steve’s lap and the blonde bites his lip, biting back a protest. Bruce smiles to himself.

He looms over Steve, looking down at him as he loosens his cuffs, rolling his sleeves back to his elbows.

“Take off your underwear.”

Steve blushes and complies, groaning when the rim of his boxers catch on his hard cock and make it slap against his stomach, spreading precome obscenely against his hard abdomen. Steve shudders and Bruce mirrors the response, licking his lips. God he looks amazing like this. Steve’s incredible, amazing, beautiful; the pinnacle of human perfection. Here for Bruce to ruin. 

Bruce takes a slow breath and breathes it out. “Right,” he says to himself.

Steve’s watching him with baited breath and Bruce wonders what he must look like to him, what Steve must see to make him look at Bruce with that kind of wonder and reverence. 

“Bend your knees,” Bruce orders smoothly, “and spread yourself.”

Steve sucks in a fast breath and he reddens with what Bruce guesses is more arousal than embarrassment. Pulling his knees up to his chest and curling his arms under his knees gives Bruce the perfect view and he smiles at Steve to let him know he’s done well.

Bruce crouches back on his heels to survey the area and can immediately tell he’s been fucked already today. He smirks over at Thor who’s too busy getting rimmed by Natasha, eyes rolling back in his head, to smirk back. Bruce doesn’t blame him. Natasha has a very talented tongue.

Turning back to Steve, he doesn’t fail to notice the way the other man’s breath has quickened yet again and his cock has filled further to an angry, almost purpling, red. Bruce licks his lips and lets his breath puff deliberately against Steve’s hole.

Hidden between Steve’s legs Bruce grins when the man fights a full body flinch and swallows a whimper at the moist breath against his most sensitive place.

“You like this,” Bruce says, pleased, and mirrors Natasha by leaning forward and licking delicately across his hole. 

Steve’s muscles jump like he wants to leap a foot in the air, but he bites his lip and keeps still. Bruce looks past Steve’s cock and balls to find Steve’s face. He’s red and panting and looking extremely debauched. Bruce holds back his smile.

“Would you like me to lick you here Steve?” Bruce asks, voice unintentionally husky. He can wait forever for Steve to be just the right amount of desperate, but he won’t pretend he isn’t tempted. That he doesn’t want to sink balls deep inside the man and fuck him until he comes screaming. 

Steve stutters, still so embarrassed, but trying so hard to be good. It makes Bruce’s cock throb. 

“Yes Bruce,” he says and licks his lips.

“Lick your asshole. Get you all wet and ready for my cock? Is that what you’d like Steve?”

Steve doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. He groans again as Bruce’s fingers move to play teasingly with his rim. He looks like he can’t quite believe what Bruce is saying, or that he’s so responsive to it. 

“Y-yes,” he groans, face twisted into an expression of such wanton desperation that it takes Bruce’s breath away.

“Yes what?” 

“Yes Bruce. Yes, please lick my ass-asshole and get me ready for your cock. I want it. I _need_ it. Please.”

Bruce licks his lips and dives forward, licking into Steve with greedy abandon, making him shout and writhe against the cushions. Bruce bites down softly on his rim in warning and Steve yelps and goes still. Licking the area, appeasing, Bruce slows down and moves onto firm deep strokes of his tongue that caress Steve’s inner walls and make him cry out softly. Bruce looks up on a backstroke to see Steve’s hands trembling where they’re holding his knees open and thrashing his head from side to side. Bruce can’t help but groan into his hole at the sight and the vibrations make Steve let out a sound that sound half-scream, half-sob.

The sound goes right to Bruce’s groin and it’s starting to get painful confined in his pants as he is. He brushes Steve’s arms out of the way and holds him open himself, pushing Steve's knees back to his ears and spreading him impossibly wide. Bruce licks over his hole in broad stripes and doesn’t breach him again, occasionally branching out to scrape his teeth over his perineum or nuzzle at his balls. Steve can’t help but thrash now he’s so far gone, little aborted movements into Bruce’s tongue and his moaning, whimpering cries every other second tell Bruce it’s almost time. 

He’s just about to pull back and free himself from his pants when Bruce feels a broad hand come to rest on the back of his neck and a low whistle in his ear. “Nice work,” is the praise.

Bruce turns his head slightly to look at Tony.

“Thank you,” he says lightly, and thrusts two lubeless fingers into Steve’s ass without warning, making him cry out, arch and sob. Bruce holds the mechanic’s eyes and watches Tony flush with a tiny smile. Eyes wandering over, Bruce sees Clint sliding up behind Thor, slicking himself and entering him smoothly. Natasha, straddled over Thor riding his cock, kisses Clint over Thor’s shoulder and the three find their rhythm together seamlessly. Clint and Natasha’s tongues tangle visibly as they kiss and when they separate Natasha looks over and winks at Bruce.

Bruce chuckles to himself and feels a jolt of lust in his gut at the sight of them twisted around each other like eels. Tony follows his eyes and his own gaze darkens with appreciation. “Well isn’t that a pretty sight.”

Bruce hums in agreement and meets Tony’s eyes again, his fingers never ceasing their thrusting inside of Steve who undulates back against them with breathy little moans. Tony looks over at Steve and licks his lips. Bruce smiles. 

“I’m going to fuck Steve,” Bruce says and Tony and Steve both groan. “Would you like to watch or participate?” 

Tony gives him a look that clearly says _you do know who you’re talking to right?_ It makes Bruce smile and he leans forward so their lips are brushing in the softest kiss he’s ever given and says, “You can fuck me while I fuck Steve.”

Tony sucks in a sharp breath and says, “Hell yes,” before sliding forward into Bruce’s embrace to turn the kiss deep and hot and slick. It’s rough and wet and full of a year of pent up sexual frustration and longing.

“Waited so long for this,” Tony gasps into his mouth, “wanted it forever.”

“I know,” Bruce breathes, sliding his fingers out of Steve’s ass. 

“Lube?” he asks Tony when they separate and Tony grins and pulls a half-empty tube out of his pocket. Bruce raises an eyebrow. Tony shrugs.

“Clint and I were busy.”

“I can see that,” Bruce says, amused and Clint barks a laugh from the three person pile-up a few metres away.

“You would’ve loved it doc!” Clint yells. “Stark looks good grovelling on his knees.”

Clint grins, sharklike and teasing. It makes Bruce laugh and Thor and Tony look at him with surprise. Natasha smiles fondly. 

“I’ll have you know Barton that I never grovel.” Tony meets his eyes with mischief in his smile. “A real man begs.”

Clint snorts.

Bruce hums. “Now _that_ I would like to see.”

Tony winks at him, but Bruce doesn’t miss his blush or the way his eyes snap to where Steve is still writhing. 

Interesting.

Bruce takes the lube from Tony’s hands and re-enters Steve with slick fingers. Steve sighs into the cushions at the pleasant sensation and his eyes roll back as Bruce moves. Tony strokes a hand down Steve’s thigh, soothing, and Steve relaxes a little more. Bruce smiles and tests his theory.

“Do you look good on your knees Tony?” he asks, conversational, and Tony’s breathing stalls for a moment in surprise—and something else—before he recovers.

“I look good anywhere Bruce.” Tony smiles roguishly.

Bruce merely smiles.

“But I think you’d look especially good on your knees.”

Tony shrugs.

“With my come on your face.”

Tony freezes and his eyes bulge comically. From across the room Bruce hears Clint suck in a breath of surprise. 

Bruce meets his eyes from under his eyelashes. “I think you’d _love_ that.”

Tony chokes and Steve stops moving on the couch. Everyone stops moving, Bruce notices.

“Now wait just a minute,” Tony says, holding up his hands. Perhaps he’s noticed everyone’s staring. More likely is that he’s noticed the way Bruce is looking at him like he’s a meal. “I think maybe we’ve got some wires crossed here.”

Bruce grins and Tony’s eyes widen further, his face colouring. 

Oh no. There’s no miscommunication, Bruce thinks, meeting Clint’s eyes and sharing a look of understanding. Bruce knows exactly what Tony wants.

Bruce grabs Tony by the throat and slams him face first into the ground, being careful not to hurt him. Tony groans in protest, but arches under him responsively when Bruce rubs his contained length between his jean clad ass cheeks. 

“I don’t think,” Bruce says quietly, controlled and Tony shivers, “that you want to be anywhere but where you are right now.”

“Fuck Banner.” Tony groans and there are murmurs of agreement from around the room.

Bruce notices eyes on him and he looks up to catch Steve looking at him. He’s rolled sideways on the couch to be able to watch them. His eyes are glazed and roaming over Tony’s shirtless body. Bruce smiles as a thought occurs to him.

“Would you like Tony to fuck you Steve?” Bruce asks.

Steve hesitates and Bruce smiles wider. “Would you like me to tell Tony just how to fuck you and make sure he does it just how I want him to?”

Tony and Steve both groan and Bruce takes that as an emphatic yes. Bruce doesn’t hesitate before pulling Tony’s pants off and it surprised to find another pair of hands helping him with his task. Thor smiles at him and Bruce leans forward to kiss him as they slide Tony’s pants and underwear over his hips, down his legs. Pulling back, Bruce sees Clint slide in behind Steve to cradle his large body and tangle him in a kiss. Natasha is at his own back, sliding her small hands through his hair and pulling his head back for a kiss once Thor has moved away to kiss Tony.

“Sadist,” she murmurs on a breath and Bruce grins and finally owns it.

“Yes.”

They smile at each other. “You’ll take care of our Captain?” he asks.

Natasha kisses him hard in answer and moves to straddle Steve, kissing him and Clint in quick succession, before rubbing her slickness teasingly over Steve’s cock. Clint laughs and grabs her hair to claim her mouth hard and fast. Steve looks up at them with wide eyes and a red mouth—it makes Bruce very happy to be here now. Here with these people who love him, who will let him have this.

A small, helpless noise from the carpet brings his attention back to Tony who is dragged half off the carpet in Thor’s embrace, kissing openly, hard and thorough.

“Jesus Pointbreak,” Tony says dazedly when they pull away from each other and on the couch Steve laughs and makes a noise of agreement.

Bruce looks up and meets Thor’s eyes. “Get him up and arranged where he wants to be.”

Thor’s eyes dance and he nods, manhandling Tony over to the couch. Tony makes a few token protests but by this point the jig is pretty much up. A blind man can see how much he wants this.

Bruce undresses deliberately, taking his time to undo his buttons and fold his shirt carefully. He can feel them looking at him, at his deliberate display of patience—of control—and he smiles inwardly when Tony makes a strangle sound in the back of his throat as he unbuckles his belt and pulls it though the loops. Looking at Tony, he tests the heft of the strap of leather, watching his eyes darken.

“Another time,” Bruce promises and Tony flushes, caught out. 

Natasha laughs, husky and inviting and reaches out to pull Tony to her, kissing him while Thor arranges him between Steve’s legs, pressed against Natasha’s front. Clint cradles Steve gently and kisses the sides of his face with worshipful reverence. Steve sighs and relaxes, cradled safe and comforted between the people he loves while Thor kisses Tony’s sweat slick spine and watches over them all.

Bruce stands back and stares at them, hardly believing this is all real. That they’re here. That this is finally happening. 

“Fucking Jesus Banner I know I put up a good fight, but are you _actually_ trying to torture me right now?” 

Bruce can see now. See the way they’ve stopped and are all waiting for something. Then it clicks in his brain and the rush of lust to his groin almost makes him groan aloud. They’re waiting. They’re _all_ waiting. For him.

For him to tell them what to do.

Bruce loves them immediately and immensely for this and it must show if the way Natasha is looking at him is any indication. She licks her lips. “Please Bruce.”

Bruce takes a deep breath and unzips his pants, leaving them open enough to relieve the pressure, but doesn’t do anything other than that. He walks forward a few steps until he’s standing over them on the couch. They look up at him, all of them with baited breath and he smiles slightly.

“Clint keep him steady and Steve you stay still and relaxed for me. You can make sounds, but I better not catch you moving.” Clint nods and salutes him while Steve just shudders and lets his eyes go dark with want. “Natasha I want you to ride Steve slow and hard and Thor you fuck Tony into Steve. Tony you match his rhythm.” The three of them nod with varying levels of lust in their faces and Bruce looks at Clint again. “You’re my eyes in the sky Clint. If you work with me and make sure everyone acts as they should I have something special for you afterwards.”

Clint’s eyes light up and he smirks. “Yes sir.”

Bruce looks over them all. “No one comes until I say they can. Understood?”

Tony groans. “Jesus Christ Banner. Who knew?”

Bruce smirks and shares a look of amusement with Thor. “Quite,” he says and looks at Tony. “You do as I say Tony. Nothing more. Nothing less.”

Tony licks his lips and nods. “You got it.”

Bruce looks at Steve who looks back at him with dark, wide eyes. Then he says, clearly “Fuck him. Slowly.”

Everyone groans when Tony enters Steve. Their eyes are locked together, caught up in the aching pleasure of the moment and Bruce sees Thor grip Tony’s hips tighter when it looks like he’s going too fast.

“Good,” Bruce praises Thor and gets a pleased nod in return. Thor isn’t truly submissive, but he likes to help which means he will follow Bruce’s orders happily enough and will enjoy the pleasure the others will get from this scenario.

When Tony is all the way inside Steve, Bruce gestures for Thor to enter him and Natasha to sink down onto Steve. Thor carefully matches the in-stroke Tony used to penetrate Steve and Natasha settles back and slides herself down on Steve with a pleased purr. Tony grins at her and pressed together as they are Bruce can tell they’re aching to devour each other.

“Kiss him Natasha.” Natasha complies and grabs Tony by the hair before slamming their mouths together. They kiss hungrily and Bruce smiles at the moans they inspire from the other three. 

“Move,” Bruce orders and the three of them do: Natasha sliding up and down, quick and smooth, making Steve groan, Thor fucking Tony hard and slow making him fuck Steve at the same pace. It takes a minute for them to get a rhythm that works, but eventually they do and then there’s no stopping them. Natasha slams down hard and draws up tight and achingly slow on Steve’s cock and Tony barrels in propelled by Thor’s mighty strength until the couch is sliding back and forth across the floor with their fucking. Bruce watches them move together, eyes dark with approval and moves to stand next to Clint. 

The archer is whispering nonsense, soothing things into Steve’s ear, stroking his neck and shushing his borderline-hysterical cries. From here Bruce can see the way Natasha is milking him slow and hard and Thor is barreling Tony into him with vicious abandon. He puts one hand on Clint’s thigh to let him know he’s done well and the other hand cups Steve’s jaw and turns his face towards him. Bruce’s heart clenches when he realises he’s crying and another jolt of lust hits him in the stomach when he sees just how _hard_ he’s trying to be good. To not move. To be obedient.

“Oh Steve,” he says and Steve opens his wet eyes to look at him. “Look how well you’re doing. So beautiful. So good for me.” He praises and Steve whines, nuzzling into his hand.

Bruce rests his forehead against Steve’s, feels Clint's face draw back and says, “Focus on me Steve. Can you do that?”

It takes a moment, but Steve nods and Bruce feels cool relief slide through him like water. “Good,” he praises. “Now I want you to breathe with me okay. You can take this—I promise. You just need to trust me.”

Steve’s almost beyond words. But he chokes out “I do” before it’s swallowed up by another choking cry as Tony fucks into him hard. His heart warms at Steve’s assurance and he gets started.

Bruce guides him through breathing and when Natasha draws up again Bruce can see exactly how hard Steve is. He’s almost purple he’s so hard and his balls are drawn up full and tight close to his body. They must hurt to touch and when Tony thrusts in to slap against them, Bruce notices Steve’s eyes rolls back.

“Oh my poor boy,” he soothes, running a hand through his hair and Steve makes a broken sound. “Not long now I promise. Just a little bit longer. Can you hold on a little bit longer for me?”

Steve nods frantically and he's trying _so hard_ that Bruce wants to bend down and devour him completely. Bruce nuzzles his cheek instead and turns to Clint. 

“You got him?”

Clint nods, a wry smile on his lips. “Course doc,” he says and his eyes narrow at Bruce, no doubt seeing his tense posture, his clenched hands. The sounds of sex echo around them, but for a moment Bruce doesn’t hear them. “You sure you’re alright doc? You look a little… strained.”

Bruce grins at him and he can feel that it’s a little bit feral and a lot hungry. Clint licks his lips. “You want some help with that?”

Bruce growls and yanks Clint’s head back by the hair taking his mouth in a claiming, aggressive kiss that makes Clint cling to his shoulders and shudder. Bruce pours every ounce of wanting he has pent up in his body into the kiss, every bit of animalistic dominance inspired by the sight before him and feels Clint’s moan of pleasure against his lips. Bruce devours the sound with ravenous hunger and feels the archers body respond eagerly. He pulls back, panting, and Clint’s eyes are still closed. His tongue peaks out to lick his lips. “Well,” he says hoarsely and when they open his heated eyes find Bruce. “I’m looking forward to that later now doc.”

Bruce smiles at him and feels more in control than he did before. In control enough to notice Tony coming close to the edge of his endurance. Tony has his head thrown back, gasping as Thor barrels into him and he thrusts hard into Steve over and over. His head lolls and his hands grip Natasha’s waist for leverage to push back against Thor and help move her up and down on Steve. Natasha clings to his shoulder for balance and when their mouths line up they kiss passionately. 

Bruce walks up beside them. “How close are you?”

Tony smirks, or tries to. It comes out looking like more of a silent moan and Natasha answers for them. “He’s close and I’ve been holding off for a while. Steve can’t last any longer.”

Steve’s pained whimper seems to confirm this and Bruce nods, “Thor?”

Thor doesn’t stop thrusting forward for a moment, golden muscles flexing. “I may climax at any time my friend. Such a thing is within my control as an Asgardian.”

Tony looks over his shoulder disbelievingly, eyes slightly unfocused. “You can control when you come?”

Thor nods. “Yes. In the mating time when it is common place to have many partners it would be most unfortunate to not be able to do so. In such a circumstance one often mates many times within the hour. To have to work around the limitations of the human body would be most unfortunate.”

Tony laughs. “Fucking hell,” he breathes and moans as Thor hits his prostate again without any apparent effort or strain on his part.

Bruce stands beside Tony and puts a hand on the back of his neck, just resting and watches his eyes close satisfyingly. “You’re doing good,” he says calmly. “So good for me Tony.”

Tony moans and bucks his hips harder, making Steve whimper. Bruce calmly trails his hand down Tony’s damp spine and braces the small of his back above where Thor is pounding into him. Bruce leans forward until his lips are brushing Tony’s ear. “Do you feel how Thor is fucking you Tony?”

Tony groans and his head falls to rest on Bruce’s shoulder. He nods.

“How does it feel?”

“Hard,” Tony moans and Thor’s pace picks up noticeably. “Good.”

“I knew you’d like this. Knew you needed it.” Tony moans in agreement and Bruce continues, “do you feel how he’s spitting you, skewering you perfectly on his big golden cock.” Tony moans louder. “It’s larger than anything you’ve ever taken isn’t it?”

Thor’s breathing stutters and Natasha moans. Tony just nods blearily. “You fucking _love_ this don’t you?”

Tony nods, desperate now, hips moving into Steve and back onto Thor without conscious control. “ _Yes_ ,” he whines and Bruce closes his eyes and breathes in his desperation like a drug. 

“Can you feel Steve? Feel his warmth, his wet clenched around you?” Tony cracks an eye open and looks past Natasha like he’s seeing Steve for the first time. Steve who’s hard and desperate and crying freely now into Clint’s neck. Tony licks his lips and groans again, arching. 

“Fuck that’s not fair. He’s not allowed to look like that.”

Bruce smiles.

“Perfect isn’t he? Beautiful and pure and _ours_ ,” he growls and everyone moans, or growls in Thor’s case. 

Bruce licks Tony’s ear. “Do you want to come inside him?”

Tony moans and Natasha mirrors the sound, moving desperately over Steve’s cock, hunching into herself like she’s going to come any moment if she doesn’t hold herself back. Like she’s just barely holding onto her composure. She's gorgeous. A hard rush of wanting suffuses Bruce at the sight of her cracking like this, almost broken open. He wants her to lose it-- every bit of that perfect, honed composure. Bruce reaches out and rubs her clit, watching as she sits straight up and screams. 

“Come Natasha,” he says and she’s still screaming when she does. Tony holds her tightly as she convulses, comes down from her high and he's nearly weeping into her breasts he’s so desperate for release. Thor’s still fucking Tony with hard, even strokes and Natasha shudders one more time before she stops moving completely. Bruce watches as she falls to the side off of Steve’s cock and Tony is pushed down on top of Steve, flattening his cock to his stomach, making Steve groan and try to shift away like it's finally too much. 

“Steve, Thor. Come.”

Steve lets out what can only be described as a scream-sob and comes spectacularly, Thor following a moment later. Their orgasms seem to go on forever and throughout it all Tony looks about a second away from hyperventilating he’s so desperate for release. He shudders as Thor comes inside him and kisses the back of his neck. Steve thrashing around, held fast by Clint who gentles him with soft touches and soothing words that calm the Captain and leave him crying into Clint’s neck, holding his arms with desperate fingers as Tony pulls out of him slowly. 

Thor collapses onto the floor on his back and stares up at the ceiling completely sated and Steve is rocked gently in Clint’s arms, Natasha moving to wrap around his back, comforting them both and kissing Clint softly. Tony is the only one left, hunched forward and kneeling on the couch, eyes wide and holding back tears.

Bruce runs a hand through his hair and kisses his face. “So good,” he breathes and kisses down his jaw. “So good for me Tony. Wonderful, beautiful Tony.”

Tony whimpers and Bruce shushes him. “Do you want to come?”

“Yes!” Tony gasps and Bruce pulls him back down to the floor to rest in the cradle of his thighs, his hand over the arc-reactor holding him back against Bruce’s chest. 

Bruce kisses the side of his neck while Tony whines and rolls his hips backwards against the hard press of Bruce’s cock in his pants. Bruce grabs his hips. “No,” he chides and pushes Tony forward so his chest is flat to the ground and his ass is in the air. Tony groans and shifts against the carpet.

Bruce shoves three fingers into his ass immediately in appeasement and Tony shouts. Bruce runs a hand down his spine and watches the play of shifting muscles across his back. “Do you want to come Tony?”

“Yes,” Tony chokes out and Bruce thinks he actually might be crying. Bruce smiles.

“Then do it. Come.”

“I-I can’t!” Tony gasps, shaking his head back and forth against the carpet and Bruce hums. 

“You can,” he assures him, twisting his finger to rub against his prostate brutally. Tony half-screams.

“I can’t Bruce. I can’t!”

“You’ll come on my fingers or you won’t come at all.”

Tony sobs and Bruce smiles, slow and satisfied. “I can keep you here like this for days Tony. Desperate. Just like this. Riding the edge until you go insane from pleasure, from pain. Until you don’t know the difference between the two. I can keep you here and I can make you hunger for it. Thirst for it with everything in you. I can make you love this Tony.” Bruce bends forward to lick a hot stripe up his spine, fingers working hard, and Tony whines. “So you’ll never be able to come without my say so again. Would you like that Tony?”

Tony doesn’t respond. Can’t.

He’s so far gone. Almost as far gone as Steve was. Steve who’s watching now, curled up with Clint and Natasha with Thor close by—all of them watching Bruce and Tony on the floor with expressions of riveted eagerness. 

Bruce curls a hand over Tony’s hip and looks down at Tony with hunger in his eyes. “Come for me now. Come for me like the beautiful, desperate little obedient thing that you are. Come Tony!” He snaps and Tony does.

He screams as he comes. Like Steve. Like Natasha. 

His back arches and he shoots onto the carpet. Tears run down his face and Bruce’s arms circle around him immediately when his tears start to fall in earnest. Heedless of the come on his chest, Bruce turns Tony in his arms and holds him as his cock softens and his sobs turn to wet gasps. Tony buries his face in his neck and breaths in great gasps, Bruce stroking his hair and shushing his cries. 

Bruce meets Thor’s eyes once Tony’s calmed down, docile and relaxed in his arms and the god nods, shifting Tony’s limp body into his arms. Tony’s eyes are lazy and half open, but appreciative when they lock on Bruce and Bruce smiles to himself as the Thunder God wraps Tony in his strong arms and Tony sighs, contented by the embrace. 

Sitting back on his heels, Bruce smiles and has almost forgotten about the insistent press of his cock in his pants when Clint kneels down beside him and presses his hand to the bulge in his pants. Bruce sucks in a breath and Clint smirks. “Got time for me doc?”

Bruce smiles. “Always,” he says truthfully and draws Clint into a kiss. Clint undoes his pants and Bruce’s fingers find Clint’s hole already slick and ready. 

Catching his surprised look, Clint grins and nods to Natasha and Steve who smile back. “I had some help.”

Natasha smirks and settles in with Steve to watch the show. Steve’s arm goes around her tentatively and she smiles at him, kissing his cheek. It must be the first time he’s held a girl since Peggy, Bruce thinks, suddenly sad. Steve catches his look and his eyes soften.

“It’s been a long time,” Steve says and Bruce just looks at him.

“Not for you,” he says and Steve’s eyes turned pained.

“It’s time I moved on,” he says simply and Natasha snuggles further into his side, her small hands rubbing his chest soothingly. “I have all of you now.”

Bruce feels a lump form in his throat at the utter sincerity in Steve’s words and he’s about to say something similar when he’s distracted.

Clint bites his ear and Bruce yelps in surprise. Clint grins, roguish. “My ass is down here doc,” he says, eyebrows waggling suggestively and Bruce laughs, startled and amused.

“Of course. I apologise.”

“No need for that. Just get down here and fuck me.”

Bruce matches his grin and slides forward to do just that. Clint throws his head back with a sigh and Bruce almost growls it feels so good to finally be fucking someone. His dick is so hard he could hammer through drywall. 

“This might not last long,” he warns and Clint laughs.

“If you think I’m lasting any longer than you after a show like that you’re delusional doc,” Clint says, rising up on his elbows to lick at Bruce’s nipples and Bruce grits his teeth against a moan. 

Bruce pants as he speeds up the pace, fucking into Clint hard and fast, grinding down on the in-stroke and making the archer hiss and curse when his prostate is slammed. They pant together as they thrust and Clint rakes his nails down Bruce’s back, leaving red marks that make him hiss and fuck harder in retaliation. Bruce slams in again and again until it’s so good and tight and wet he’s seeing stars behind his eyelids. Clint yells when Bruce grabs his cock in a death grip and strokes too tight, coming all over himself. Some of his come hits his chin and Bruce bends down to lick it off making Clint—and Tony—groan. 

Then he’s snapping his hips harder, moving faster and gripping Clint’s hips hard enough that he’s going to have finger-shaped bruise marks for a week or more. On a gasp, Bruce finally throws his head back and comes so hard it feels like he’s dying. 

Blinking the sweat out of his eyes, he comes back to Clint shifting out from under him, standing up and yanking him over towards the couch. He follows, being led like a blind man and is pushed unsubtly down beside Natasha who is still curled up against Steve. She tangles her hand with one of his and kisses Clint’s shoulder as he plops down in Bruce’s lap. Bruce wraps his unoccupied arm around Clint and looks to the right to find Steve.

“You were amazing,” he tells him softly and even though he’s out of that headspace now, Steve still blushes a mutters a pleased, embarrassed thank you. Bruce feels a great swell of emotion and leans in front on Natasha to meet Steve’s inviting mouth with his own. They kiss gently, chastely and when they’re done he turns slightly towards Natasha who is watching closely and catches her mouth as well.

Then he leans back and slumps against the couch, summarily exhausted. Clint shifts in his arms a bit and gets comfortable against his chest. Bruce kisses his neck. 

“Well that was fun,” Tony says from his position on the floor with Thor wrapped around him like a large golden blanket. Bruce smiles at the sound of his voice. “Anyone for Thai?”

Clint groans. “Fuck yes Stark. Order all that shit. Every fucking thing on the menu.”

Tony points at Clint. “I like the way you think Barton.”

“Jarvis!”

“Yes sir.”

“Did you get all that?”

“I will place your order momentarily sir.”

“Awesome. You’re the best Jarvis!”

“So you tell me sir.”

Bruce blinks, still reeling a little and not entirely confident in his hearing. “Did the computer just use sarcasm?”

“AI,” Tony corrects with a cocky smile, scratching his stomach and grimacing down at himself. “Oh god I’m so gross. That settles it. Shower first, then food. Everyone in?”

Thor laughs against Tony’s neck. “Indeed.”

Natasha shares a look with the boys on the couch and shrugs. “Sure.”

Tony stands up and stretches, vertebrae popping, and winces. “Damn Banner,” he breathes. “That was brutal.”

Bruce smiles serenely and shrugs.

Steve snorts and shakes his head. “And it’s like it never happened.”

Bruce raises and eyebrow and Tony looks fascinated.

“One minute you’re growling, making me come just by _ordering_ me to and the next you’re back to your meek, mild-mannered sciencey self. How does that even _work?_ ”

Bruce smiles and cocks his head. “I’ll guess you’ll just have to find out.”

Tony’s eyes darken and he grins. “I’ve got no problem with that. Guys?”

There is a chorus of emphatic no’s—or embarrassed head shaking in Steve’s case-- and Bruce’s heart swells. He’s so happy to have found these people that accept him and love him for exactly who he is. Who love each other fiercely enough to love _all_ of each other.

Natasha. Steve. Clint. Tony. Thor.

Bruce looks around at the other Avenger’s and smiles a soft, true smile. Natasha squeezes his hand and Thor’s eyes hold his, knowing and gentle.

“So—shower?” Tony says.

The Thai food arrives and sits cooling on the bench, but they’re all far too busy to notice.

**Author's Note:**

> Polyvengers because yay!! :D
> 
> In my mind Tony got his evil genius on and decided the OT6 feels were nice and all but it was all moving waaay too slow for his taste. So he drugged them a little bit to get things going in the sexytimes department and it backfired because a) Steve was a virigin and Thor was all guilty about devirginising him, b) Clint had a Loki mind-rape flashback, c) Bruce broke his dry spell without consent and Natasha was all guilty about it, and d) Everyone's memory was a bit spotty afterwards so it made for less sexy fun and more angsty feels than Tony intended.
> 
> So there-- context!


End file.
